Well, it was more than about just being rushed. My parents believed in the 7th day of rest, so the less time spent over a hot stove, the better.
My mom’s buns were like no other. They were light, fluffy, never too brown, and they had a special taste and melt in your mouth factor all their own. It’s hard to describe and I don’t even know her secret. But all I know is, no one could equal her homemade buns.
The homemade jam was also part of the charm. Generally strawberry jam would accompany our quick styled Sunday breakfasts. Homemade buns and homemade strawberry jam were a match made in Heaven.
The other day, my neighbour Janette brought over fresh homemade strawberry jam and a dozen freshly baked buns. It was to help celebrate the fact that she has a new grandchild! Congrats grandma!! How I got a gift out of that I’m not sure, but I did not question homemade treats!
As I glanced at the counter full of our new treats this fine Father’s Day, I immediately thought of our Sunday mornings. And then I thought of Dad.
And then I searched high and low for my Dad’s favourite cast iron fry pan. Found it!
Typically wearing a plaid short sleeved shirt and jeans, Dad would stand in front of the farmhouse stove, stirring around a massive pile of mashed potatoes in this cast iron fry pan.
Dad’s definition of fried was actually burnt. That was just the way he liked all his food. WELL. DONE.
So today, we kinda had an old farm styled Sunday breakfast. Janette’s homemade buns, and homemade strawberry jam served up in my Dad’s frypan. How’s that for a mish mash of memories all piled into one?
Sidenote… Janette’s buns are the closest to my mom’s I’ve ever witnessed. The bag was slightly steamed up from their freshness. And the test? Yup, they melted in my mouth. Ohhhh….
Thank-you sweet Janette for helping make this little memory transpire on this very special day! It was an opportunity to tell my son yet another small story from my childhood.
And Happy Father’s Day to you, Dad! I know I derived my rustic ways because of you, so thanks for the gift that is embedded in me as deep as your love was for us.
I’d bet my Mom had NO idea that when she served her buns and jam, that it would become ‘a thing’ to write about. But it was. And is. The tiniest memories trigger part of the entire story. And I’m just so grateful to have landed into the family of buns and jam.
With a cast iron fry pan that burned potatoes.
Do you have a quirky memory of your Dad? I’d love to hear it!